


Every Fierce Dragon Needs a Warrior

by wupuga



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Birthday, Cheese, Dragons, F/M, Roses, surprise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 03:03:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5400644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wupuga/pseuds/wupuga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Between finding out his sister hates him and fighting with Caoilinn, Alistair has had enough surprises for one day. But little does he know that Caoilinn spent the entire evening planning out the perfect birthday surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Fierce Dragon Needs a Warrior

After dinner, Alistair excused himself and made his way up to his room at the Denerim Inn. He hoped the quiet solitude would help clear his thoughts of the disaster that was meeting his sister. And the subsequent quarrel with Caoilinn--who wasn’t at dinner, he noticed. What he wanted now was to go to bed and pretend the whole day had never happened.

_Like that’s going to happen_ , he thought as he stopped. He leaned back against the wall of the hallway and rubbed his forehead. Eventually he’ll patch things up with Caoilinn, but could he move past his foolish hope of finally belonging to a family being crushed?

His sister hated him. She wanted nothing to do with him, and _blamed_ him for their mother’s death. On top of it all she made him feel guilty enough that he gave her a good sum of gold. And that was what prompted the argument with Caoilinn. Caoilinn was furious that he let his sister take advantage of him, that he didn’t stand up for himself. He didn't know how to tell her that no one had ever taught him he was worth standing up for before her--he didn't know how. 

Alistair sighed and pushed away from the wall, and continued down the hall to his room. When he neared Caoilinn’s room, he hesitated. He should at least say goodnight, yes? And even though she was angry with him, seeing her and hearing her voice might help with the lump in his throat that he couldn’t seem to swallow.

“Caoilinn …?” Alistair said as he rapped lightly on the door. No answer. He hesitated knocking again--he didn’t want to wake her if she was already asleep. Instead of knocking he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against her door. “I’m sorry.” He murmured.

When he got to his room, he stopped, his brow furrowed. Light flickered from the gap under the door; he didn’t remember leaving candles burning when he left earlier. He turned the knob and gave the door a tentative push.

Candles were the first thing he noticed when he stepped over the threshold. There wasn’t a flat surface that didn’t have at least one candle on it, giving the room a serene glow. His attention shifted to the cloth-covered table: a single rose in a glass of water placed in the middle. Beside the rose, two small packages. Beside the two small packages, a platter of assorted cheeses and meats, and a bottle of wine.

He stepped further into the room, closing the door behind him. He wasn’t sure what was going on; was he in the correct room? This couldn’t be for him, things like this happened to other people, not him. He stood beside the table and lightly fingered the bottle of wine and platter of cheese. It was a good thing he didn’t have much of an appetite at dinner.

“I persuaded the innkeeper to open the door for me.” The quiet, familiar voice greeted him from the far side of the room. Of course this was her doing, but why?

He started to question Caoilinn, but when she stepped further into the light the question caught in his throat.

“I hope you don’t mind.” She said quietly, uncertainty wavering in her voice.

He was probably gawking, but all he’d ever seen her wear was armor, or tunics and trousers. Her hair was almost always in a tight bun. Tonight though … tonight she was breathtaking. Her hair fell in soft ringlets across her shoulders, and the blue low-cut dress she wore shimmered in the candlelight. He enjoyed how the dress accentuated her curves.

Caoilinn fidgeted under his scrutiny. “The innkeeper’s daughter let me borrow the dress.” She explained and ran her hands nervously over the skirt, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles. “Y-you don’t like it, do you?”

“No! No--I mean, yes. You look … beautiful.”

His heart skipped a beat at the small, soft, smile she let slip.

“But … what is all this?” He gestured at the room. Was she apologizing for their argument earlier? If so, he wouldn’t accept it. She had nothing to apologize for. After thinking about what she said, he knew she was right. He _did_ deserve to stand up for himself when people sought to take advantage of him.

“Your birthday.”

He stared at her, wondering if he’d heard her correctly.

“I know it was last week, but I wanted it to be special--and without interruption. For once, Wynne had a good idea when she suggested we stay in the city tonight.” Caoilinn glided toward the table. “I didn’t have time to pull together too much, just an assortment of your favorite cheeses and some wine.” Caoilinn fidgeted nervously; her eyes darted between him and the table. “I didn’t know what kind of wine you like, or if you like wine at all, so I got what I like. I hope you don’t mind.”

Words failed him. Caoilinn thought this gesture _‘small’_. But she didn’t know that his birthday had always been an offensive reminder of his existence--King Maric’s bastard child. An existence no one had ever wanted acknowledged let alone celebrate before. No, the gesture was not _‘small’_.

Caoilinn’s smile faltered then faded when he said nothing. “Did I do something wrong?” She asked, her voice uncharacteristically timid.

His answer came out in a flurry of stuttered words, each tripping over the other from his shock-slackened mouth. How could he possibly express how much this meant? After a few seconds of pathetic attempts speaking, he gave up. Instead, he stepped over to her quickly, and pulled her to him. He kissed her deeply, pouring as much love, affection, and gratitude into it as he possibly could.

“You did absolutely nothing wrong,” he said, as they broke apart, and was rewarded by the return of her smile.

*~*~*~*~*

While they ate birthday cheese and drank birthday wine - which was excellent - they shared stories from their childhoods. Caoilinn recalled how she broke her arm when she was ten after being thrown by a horse. Her father had almost killed Fergus for not watching her. Then Alistair had her laughing so hard tears streamed down her face as he told her how he and the cook’s grandson played jokes on Isolde to make her angry, only to pretend they had no idea what the red-faced noblewoman was talking about when she confronted them.

No matter what the topic, or which one of them were speaking, his mind kept wandering to Caoilinn, and how much thought she must have put into this. Was she the one who planted the idea in Wynne’s head to stay the night in the city tonight? he wondered, before she interrupted his thoughts.

“I nearly forgot!” Caoilinn pushed an envelope and two small packages toward him. “You can’t have a birthday without presents!”

“For me?”

Caoilinn nodded eagerly. “It’s not much, but …”

Alistair leaned across the table, interrupting her with a kiss. “… but it is.”

He didn’t want to seem overeager, so he unwrapped the cloth from the first small package gingerly, revealing a small dragon statuette. It looked exactly like the one he had left behind when he was forced into the chantry for Templar training. Caoilinn gently laid a hand over the statuette and turned it over, showing him the bottom where a small “A” was scratched into the stone. Tears welled up in his eyes. It was the same one.

“How …?”

“You mentioned it a while ago and I wrote to the cook at Redcliffe Castle seeing if it might be found.” Her face flushed. “Here, open the other one.”

The other small package contained another statuette, a warrior with his shield raised, and sword drawn.

“Every fierce dragon …” she said, and he watched her position the two statuettes in front of one another as though they were engaged in combat. “... needs a warrior to battle.”

He laughed when she choreographed the dragon fight right there on the table, sounds and all. No one would believe him if he told them that Caoilinn had sat at a table, playing with toys.

“Is this for me, as well?” He reached for the sealed envelope.

She suddenly stopped her mock battle. She bit her lip, then nodded.

Her change in demeanor concerned him. What could she be worried about? Unfolding the letter, he read it once, and then over again. It made little sense. It wasn’t a letter—it was a receipt. A receipt showing washing services, paid in advance for an entire year.

“Are you trying to tell me something? Do I stink?”

Caoilinn smirked and shook her head. “No. I … your sister, Goldanna? I convinced the Reverend Mother over by the market to have the Chantry’s laundry done at Goldanna’s place, and that I would cover the cost as a donation to the Chantry. I even persuaded the owner of the washing place to give Goldanna the order. That way she gets the largest cut of the earnings..”

He sat back, stunned.

“Alistair.” Caoilinn took his hands in hers. “I’ve lost my family, but you still have your sister. Yes, she said some cruel things to you, and I came close to sinking my daggers into her chest, repeatedly, but she’s your family.” She shrugged. “I wanted to help.”

Again, tears welled in his eyes. Caoilinn passionately disliked his sister—that was obvious from their earlier argument. But she was helping her anyway because she was his sister. He meant that much to her?

He stood, taking her in his arms again, and caressed her cheek with his thumb. “Caoilinn, I …”

“I love you, Alistair.” She looked up at him, worry lines clear on her forehead as her eyes met his. She loved him. She said it aloud, naming him. He had known it would take time before she was comfortable saying it: that she was afraid of being hurt. Lately, she’d toss out a quick ‘love you’ before falling asleep, but this—this was entirely different. And it made his heart feel as though it would explode.

He kissed her deeply, till they were both breathless. During the kiss, she clung to him, refusing to release her grip. Was she still afraid of losing him, or of him hurting her? Not a chance. Not now, not ever.

“I love you, too, Caoilinn,” he murmured against her lips.

She squealed when he suddenly picked her up then deposited her on the bed.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She said and grabbed him by the shirt to pull him down to her.

“You.” He said with a smirk, earning him an eye roll and a groan..

*~*~*~*~*

Alistair extinguished the candles and curled up beside Caoilinn, cradling her in his arm.

“Did you like your birthday surprise?” she mumbled, already half asleep.

“Yes.” He smiled and pressed his lips against her forehead.

Though: the greatest surprise in all this was what he held here in his arms--her. A beautiful flower weathering the death, destruction, and fear plaguing the world. One which he was entrusted to love and protect--and he would do so until his last breath.

Yes. He liked his surprise very much.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the alistair telephone game: http://alistairtelephonegame.tumblr.com/
> 
> Tumblr link: http://wupuga.tumblr.com/post/135127391667/every-fierce-dragon-needs-a-warrior


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